Flirting
by AAnitab
Summary: Set in my co writer's fix it land for Reichenbach, John and Sherlock reaffirm their relationship after a night out at the pub with their friends. That man at the bar should have known better than to flirt with John's Sherlock. Committed slash romantic smut ahead. Be warned. I am the queen
1. Knowing Why

Title: Flirting

Author: AnitaB

Author's notes: I own nothing from Sherlock and make no money. No infringement is intended. Set in my co writer's fix it land for Reichenbach, John and Sherlock reaffirm their relationship after a night out at the pub with their friends. That man at the bar should have known better than to flirt with John's Sherlock. Committed slash romantic smut ahead. Be warned.

Flirting

by AnitaB

Chapter 1: Knowing Why

The door slammed shut behind the two men with a chill swoop of London air. Several more steps took them to the flat of the wall at the base of the stairs. Breathing that was just beginning to slow after the running was held as eyes met in a moment of tension.

Then the two fully grown men started giggling as they leaned against the wall.

"How do we keep getting ourselves into things like that?" John fought the laughter into a submission that only lasted until Sherlock smiled at him.

"Well, we caught the killer, in record time no less." Sherlock's smile twisted just a bit. "So you wanted to celebrate with a pint."

"Don't act like you weren't enjoying yourself. You kept telling Lestrade old stories of your exploits just to keep him laughing." John smiled, tapped a hand on the sleeve of Sherlock's coat. "I've never seen him or Molly laugh that hard."

Sherlock made the 'I know I'm clever' shrug and then turned to meet John's eyes more directly. "And then the man stopped at our table…"

He watched John's smile fade a bit, his jaw tightening subtly. "To flirt with you, Sherlock. And you let him." The 'it was nothing' wave of Sherlock's hand only narrowed John's eyes more. His hand on Sherlock's coat closed over a fold of the cloth. "And then you let him corner you at the bar when you went for the next round." John's hand tightened, the other one rising from the wall for a matching grip on the other sleeve. "You even let him touch you when any idiot could see you didn't want him to. Why?"

Sherlock's shrug didn't answer the question, but that didn't keep him from responding with words. "Another two pounds of pressure and you would have broken his wrist when you pinned him over the bar."

"And don't even think that I didn't consider giving him the break instead of the sprain. And don't try to tell me you don't know why, Sherlock."

The hands that had defended his honor tonight and his life so many times opened, slid up the arms of his coat to get a grip on the collar. Sherlock knew he was leaning closer, watching those lips move around the sound of his name. "And what if I really don't know why, John?"

"Then you're an idiot." One set of those fingers fisted in his scarf to bend him just a little lower. Sherlock rested both hands on John's sides, fingertips curling into his coat pockets for a grip. "You know I'm the only one who can touch you like that. The only one you want touching you like that."

Now Sherlock was smiling, sliding both hands around to pull John more securely against him. "Prove it,"

He adored that sound on John's lips. And the former soldier knew it, made that breathless little growl -on purpose just for the response he got. John adored the sight of Sherlock's eyes half-closed with need.

Strong fingers caught and clenched in his hair, holding him a breathless, straining inch from those lips. "You and your evidence. Here's some data for you."

Lips touched. Just touched for several beats of Sherlock's heart. He knew the shape of these lips against his own, knew the exact combination of soft and firm pressure. He knew exactly how even this simple a kiss changed their heart rates, spiked their breathing. If Sherlock were to pull back right now, John would look at him with pupils blown wide, reach for him with trembling hands.

But he didn't want to pull back. He wanted to press closer, infinitely closer. Sherlock wanted more warmth, wanted the hitch in John's breathing when he deepened the kiss, wanted John's taste on his tongue.

Sherlock smiled against those lips and changed the angle of John's head with one hand along that stubborn jaw. John's lips opened just a bit automatically, then he gasped around the first thrust of Sherlock's tongue.

He adored that gasp, adored the play of that tongue against his own. /More, John, give me more.\\

It was like John heard him, like the doctor in his arms had read his mind. Or maybe he just wanted Sherlock as much as Sherlock wanted him. Because strong arms tightened around him as John took over the kiss and claimed the inside of Sherlock's mouth with a low growl and an agile tongue.

That was exactly what he wanted. John was the only one who could make him feel like this, the only one he ever wanted to touch him. Even as that man suddenly pulled back.

"Sherlock, we have to take this upstairs unless we want Mrs. Hudson to need her 'soothers' before dinner." And people called him a genius. Sherlock stopped resisting the hand pressed against his chest and wove their fingers together instead.

"Lead the way, John."

000

That man could be infuriating. But he could also be amazing, incredible, and so damn hot that John still had a hard time believing that Sherlock had picked him.

Short, ordinary, scarred John Watson was the only person that tall, extraordinary, statuesque Sherlock Holmes responded to like this. He, with only a kiss, a touch, a sound, could bring this amazing man to full attention or complete distraction.

He could pull the most delicious sounds from those lips. He could make that man shake with need and even forget he was halfway through an experiment.

He, John Ordinary Watson, could make Sherlock press hard against his hand and ask with every inch of his body for another kiss.

Something John always wanted to give him. Every single day.

John watched as Sherlock deliberately joined their hands together right against his chest. John could feel the rhythm change against his hand. He watched those perfect eyes drop to his lips, watched Sherlock watch and mirror his stroke of his own tongue over his own lip. "Lead the way, John."

It was hard to breathe at the way Sherlock made his name sound. It was hard to remember why he shouldn't pin that lean body right back against the foyer wall to kiss him until his knees went weak. They could peel off a couple of layers right here and …

/Oh, that's right. We don't want Mrs. Hudson to have another fainting spell.\\

"Right, upstairs." John dropped his hand, keeping Sherlock's fingers tight between his own. Doing a sharp about face on one heel, he moved up the stairs trailing Sherlock by the length of their arms.

He didn't rush the steps for one simple reason. It was always more fun to wait and make impatient Sherlock to the rushing. There was nothing John liked more than when Sherlock reached for him, wanted him.

Just like this. The second Sherlock's heels crossed their door he took back his hand. John watched as Sherlock's coat hit the floor at his heels, followed just as quickly by his suit jacket.

Then those hands, shaking just a little bit, reached for the zipper of John's coat. "John," Long fingers pulled John close and he completely forgot any thoughts about trying to slow Sherlock down a bit. But then Sherlock's kisses always made him forget anything existed beyond the need for more of this man against more of him.

Groaning against those perfect lips, John helped Sherlock peel the jacket off him and reached for the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. He wasn't about to be the only one naked. And if Sherlock had his way, John would be down to his skin before the genius lost one more stitch of clothing. John found himself pinned to that lean chest as those hands jerked at the back of his jumper. "Hmm, no, Sherlock…" His voice stopped in his throat at the hot, strong slide of those hands up his back flat against his skin.

/Oh, bloody, hell, yes, Sherlock. Touch me.\\ John gave in for a moment, fisting both hands into dark curls to drag his stupid genius in for a desperate kiss.

He was lost in the thrust and dance of their tongues until Sherlock's simply gorgeous hands stroked up his chest and over his scar. "Hmm, John, let me…"

/Let me strip you bare and drive you mad with pleasure, John.\\ That's what Sherlock meant by the breathless set of words and the strain of his fingers upward. That's what Sherlock always meant. "No, Sherlock, you're losing the shirt first or I'm ripping you out of it and damn the buttons."

Sherlock chuckled against his mouth and pulled back those hot, strong hands. "Yes, sir, now lose the jumper."

Good lord, that man was gorgeous. John stepped back, peeling his jumper off over his head, watching those amazing hands dance down the buttons hiding that lean chest. Pale skin gleamed in the growing gap. It made him want to touch, lick, maybe even bite.

Finally all those buttons were open and Sherlock paused with his hands at his belt. "Your turn, John, or am I ripping you out of your buttons?"

As fun as that had been the last time, John didn't want to beg Mrs. Hudson into another round of sewing.

And he bloody well adored the way Sherlock always looked at him when he was shirtless. John sped his way through the buttons before meeting those eyes with a warm smile. "Same time?"

Sherlock nodded and locked his eyes to the gap in John's shirt. The heat in those eyes was burning him alive. And he wanted more.

Two pairs of shoulders rolled and two shirts hit the floor at their heels. /Bloody gorgeous, my Sherlock.\\

Those lips were swollen from his kiss. Those eyes were filled with heat as they trailed over his body. Those hands clenched in time with a low, sweet groan.

And that skin… that smooth, pale skin begged to be touched, to be kissed. "Sherlock,"

"Come here, John. I need you."

Hell itself couldn't keep John from stepping into those open arms, leaning in for that desperate hungry kiss and the heat of all that skin against his own.

000


	2. A Little Taste

000

Flirting

by AnitaB

Chapter 2: A little taste

It didn't make any sense. It shouldn't feel this good. A simple kiss and a shirtless hug shouldn't be able to overpower every single nerve in his body.

But it did. John did. Sherlock absolutely adored holding John, having John hold him. It was always beautiful and emotional and more necessary than air.

And it wasn't enough. It wasn't physically possible for Sherlock to ever get enough of John. But that never stopped him from trying.

"Sherlock,"

He adored the way John said his name. Sherlock closed his arms around John's bare upper body, pressing him tight against his ribs and crossed the distance between their lips for another tongue-tangling kiss.

/More, John, need you closer.\\ Strong arms tightened around him. John's skin rubbed across his own as that steady hand fisted in his hair. His forceful John took over the kiss, bending him closer. /Yes, John, take me.\\

Before Sherlock had drunk in enough of John's taste, of the skill and thrust of that man's tongue, John pulled back with a low groan. "John,"

"Hmm," That hand in his hair tightened, arching his neck back even as John's arms pulled him down closer. Skillful lips brushed his ear. "Hmm, Sherlock. Think it's time to show you who you belong to. No more flirting with strange men in pubs. More than a bit not good."

It was like John didn't want him to breathe when that hot mouth trailed from his ear down the arched line of his throat to the racing of his pulse under his skin. "Yours, John, only yours. Always yours."

"Good boy," John smiled against his pulse, one hand curving hot and low into the small of his back to pull their hips flush together. "That's my good boy."

Sherlock dragged in a breath and tightened his arms around his John. Just in time for John's mouth to ravage his throat. Strong teeth scraped gently over his pulse, then closed around it in a careful but hard bite.

It was going to leave a mark, a very obvious and unmistakable mark. Sherlock loved it when John marked him. "John, my John." His hands flew to that strong jaw, leading those lips back to his own. "Need you, John. Bed, now, upstairs." Sherlock dove into a kiss, licking his way past those perfect lips and over those strong teeth.

John weakly pulled back from the kiss with a smile. "Upstairs, huh?" That man ran wandering hands down his chest, triggering nerves all along the way. "You plan to be rather loud then, don't you, my Sherlock?"

The simple answer was yes. God, yes. Bloody hell, yes. Always yes. But letting John know the power he held, that John could and did rob him of all self-control so easily… no, not today. "In a way, my John. You're going to be yelling for me, for more of what I'm going to do to you." Sherlock got a grip on that short hair to angle John's head back. He planted a lick, a kiss, and a gentle scrape of teeth over the pounding of John's heart in his throat. "We might as well spare our landlady the noises you'll be making for me."

John's smile said in no uncertain terms that Sherlock hadn't managed to fool him at all. "We'll see who's doing the yelling, now, won't we?" He reached up for a soft, gentle kiss before somehow stepping completely out of the tight grip of pale arms around him. It was amazing how he managed that so smoothly. "Now get yourself upstairs if you want me to touch you, Sherlock."

There was no "If" involved. There was never any "If" involved about John's touch. "Always," "Please," and "Damnit, more" were much, much more logical and frequent responses.

Just like right now. Sherlock claimed John's hand, intertwining their fingers for a solid grip. "Could be dangerous…"

Sherlock damn well adored the quick heat of John's smile before turning to lead his blogger up the stairs to bed.

He could feel the heat of John's eyes trailing over his back, couldn't wait for those hands or that mouth to follow the path. But he had to wait. Stairwells only worked out at all if John was leading the way and the railings always left bruises regardless of the position involved.

And he wanted John in bed, wanted to pin that strong body to their sheets and bite his way over the scar that brought John into his life. /I must send Stamford another little thank you.\\

Just a little further. Sherlock cleared the top of the stairs and pulled John in front of him, wrapping long arms around his blogger. He couldn't help but place a little sting of a bite and a stroke of his tongue on the arched line of that strong throat, nibbling the chain resting low against that gorgeous skin. "Are you thinking about it, John? About what I'm going to do to you?"

John laughed, cuddling back against his chest and reclaiming both of Sherlock's hands. "I think it's safe to say that I'm almost always thinking about what we could be doing to each other."

/Good, very good.\\ Sherlock pulled a hand free for the doorknob. If he didn't get his John to the bed right now he might just take him right here on the landing.

000

He couldn't know, could he? Of course Sherlock knew his voice affected John. Any idiot could deduce that. But John couldn't believe the detective could possibly understand. Just. How. Much.

The simplest of sounds on those lips made John's knees go weak and his heart race.

Add heat to his favorite eyes and the warmth of smooth skin against his own and John's bones took on the consistency of rice pudding.

/Five feet more to the bed. Just get to the bed.\\ John crossed those five feet with Sherlock practically glued to his back. But that wasn't how they were getting in bed.

John had something to prove to his idiot genius. He stopped walking and turned in Sherlock's arms, sliding one hand up that lean chest and the other into thick curls. "You want me, don't you, Sherlock?"

Strong, pale hands fisted and opened, gripping his arms as their owner swayed a little under his touch. "Oh, god, yes. Always, John."

He smiled, fucking loving just how much Sherlock meant every single one of those words and about a million others he didn't say. Just like John wanted him. "Then get on your back on that bed and hold on tight." Sherlock shivered hard, his knees half buckling. /That's my good boy, feel that much for me.\\ John wanted another of those gorgeous sounds. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."

Now it was John's turn to go weak kneed and make a helpless pleasure sound. But it was Sherlock's fault for looking so damn gorgeous stretched out against his sheets with those strong hands clenched on the headboard. "Damn it all, John. Get the hell down here and touch me already."

Like there was anything he wanted to do more. Ever. John was smiling as he crawled up the suit clad legs to kneel across lean hips and stare down at his genius. What did he want to do to this man first? Those lean ribs heaved with the breath for a low desperate sound. /Oh yeah, I wanted a bite.\\

"Stay still, Sherlock, if you can manage it." John settled over Sherlock's hips and braced both hands on those lean ribs. He needed a kiss, then he needed every single smooth, pale inch of Sherlock's skin under his lips, between his teeth.

"Give me a taste, Sherlock." His genius leaned up, offering his lips without once releasing the headboard. John loved kissing Sherlock, but there were so many things he needed to do to his genius right now. All of them delightful.

Sitting up, John surveyed the gorgeous landscape before him. Wide, hungry eyes stared up at him. Swollen lips moaned his name. Lean ribs heaved under his hands. And his bite mark colored the pulse pounding in a long neck. Oh their own, his fingers stroked over his mark. His mark on his man. /Sherlock.\\ "How long did the last bite here last, Sherlock?"

Sherlock arched under him just a bit, almost rocking. "Three days for the teeth marks to become indistinct. Four more for the discoloration to fade. Twelve hours past that, I wanted a new one."

"And where did I give you the next one then?"

His voice dropped and his eyes closed. John loved the rasp of that helpless little moan. "Inner thigh. Lasted two extra days in each stage of bruising."

"Hmm, eleven whole days..." John leaned down, licking over the new mark with an eager tongue. "Let's break that record right here. Think I can manage it?" Before Sherlock had a chance to answer, John leaned down and set his teeth into the skin vibrating with a helpless moan. The sudden touch and grip of long fingers on the back of his neck just made his teeth clench harder.

"Yes, John. Mark me, I'm yours." Sherlock's hips rocked under his, reminding John of just how much clothing was still in the way of his plans for this man. He rocked his hips down against Sherlock's and held the bite with a helpless sound of his own. /Mine, Sherlock, you're mine.\\

John found himself smiling as he finally kissed, licked and nibbled his way down that gorgeous chest to the music of his favorite voice and the guidance of long fingers. He loved the sound Sherlock made at the flick of his tongue over tiny male nipples. "Oh, please, John."

/Almost, Sherlock, I've more of you to explore.\\ He hid a smile in a slow languid kiss over a racing heart, his hands pinning lean hips to the bed. "Please, what, my darling Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't answer… at least not with words. A low, sweet growl shook the skin under John's lips before the doctor found himself on his back on the bed, Sherlock pinning his hands above his head with a wide, happy smile. "You, John. Only you, always you." Sherlock leaned down for a deep, eager kiss. "All of you against all of me. I want you."

/That's my Sherlock, that's my good boy.\\ Before his eyes Sherlock dipped his head to kiss the medallion over his heart. "Take what you want, Sherlock. I'll always give it to you."

That… right there… that look on Sherlock's face was worth anything, everything in the entire universe. Because that world's only consulting detective never looked happier than he did like this. And that, more than the sex, the comfort of touch, or the adrenaline of adventure, John wanted Sherlock happy.

"Thank you, John." That dark hair curled against his skin as Sherlock kissed and licked every single line of the scar on his shoulder.

And John's brain started melting out his ears at the glorious seduction of that mouth over his skin.

000


	3. Illogical

000

Flirting

by AnitaB

Chapter 3: Illogical

It didn't make any sense. Not a single bit. Sherlock dipped his head to drag the tip of his tongue over a trailing line of scar tissue. His lips twitched into a smile at the helpless sound on John's lips. As his blogger always said, it didn't need to make 'a lick of sense.' He licked his way back to the raised center of the scar for a soft press of his lips.

Normally, the lack of logic would drive him round the bend. But not this. He kissed the old entry wound, swirling his tongue around the circular edge, loving the texture of that skin as much as the vibration of John's voice.

This could be as senseless, illogical, and crazy as it wanted to be as long as John was here. As long as John was his and he was John's.

And John was his. John was here, in his arms, in his bed, sweetly moaning his name under the worship of his mouth.

And he was worshipping. This scar was the reason this amazing man had come into his life. While he would never wish for John to endure a moment of suffering, Sherlock would be forever grateful to the wound that brought his soldier into his world.

Sherlock turned his head to kiss his way over John's heart to press his lips to the saint's medal. He never wanted to spend a day without John again, had hated every single day of the months he'd been forced to stay away.

The protection medallion had kept him functional, if only barely, during those long months at a distance. Now it guarded the only thing Sherlock couldn't and wouldn't live without. "John, my gorgeous John."

This could be as messy and emotional as it could manage because Sherlock wouldn't give up an ounce of the emotion between them, wouldn't risk losing a single degree of the heat washing over them both.

"Sher… oh, please… Sherlock?" Strong hands wiggled loose from his grip to fist in his hair. Sherlock resisted the pull of those fingers for the time it took to pull another helpless sound from John, just long enough for another kiss, another lick, another nibble. "Oh, hell, Sherlock."

"Hmm, yes, John." He could live off the heat in the eyes locked on his face. Sherlock couldn't help pushing that heat higher by stroking his tongue over a masculine nipple before letting those hands drag him away from that delicious skin. "Did you need something, my John?"

"You, you idiot." John's ribs heaved under his hands, his hips rocked up against Sherlock's body. "Hurry the hell up, Sherlock, or I'm taking over. All of me against all of you… remember?"

/I remember everything to do with you, John. Always.\\ Sherlock hid a smile against the lean strength of John's chest. The helpless groan on his lips wasn't nearly as covert. "We'll get there, John. Don't worry about that at all."

Nothing in this world or any other was ever going to keep Sherlock from giving John anything and everything he needed, just to watch the love and pleasure in his face at the contact. Not even John's desire to hurry.

"I'll take back over, Sherlock, I swear it." Sherlock couldn't hold back a happy smile and a wordless sound of need at the trembling desperation in his favorite voice. John meant every glorious word. /Good. Can't wait.\\

"I'm sure you will." Sherlock let his hands stroke down lean ribs to work open that belt. "But not just yet." He dropped a kiss on the curve of hipbone to the clenching of strong hands in his hair. "Let me … touch you, John. Let me…" Words didn't exist for everything he wanted to put at the end of that plea. So Sherlock finished it with a simple press of lips very, very low on John's stomach. John would understand. John always understood him. Only John ever understood him. / My John.\\

"Yes, Sherlock, bloody hell yes! Anything, anywhere, anytime. Yes."

/That's my John, always yes for us.\\ Together they managed to shove the rest of John's clothes away without Sherlock's lips leaving his skin. Those strong hands immediately returned to his hair as that sturdy body arched up under his. There was nothing he loved more in the universe than this, than John naked and wanting him. And there was no mistaking either part of that right now.

Every glorious inch of John was bare beneath him, available to eyes, lips, hands… tongue. And John wanted him. That was more than obvious. Sherlock braced John's restless hips with both hands, letting his eyes drop those last few inches to look at him. John's erection took on the most gorgeous shade of red when he was particularly worked up. Not that he would ever tell anyone, but it was now Sherlock's favorite color, just barely beating out the color of his favorite eyes. Dozens, hundreds of people enjoyed John's eyes. Only Sherlock was lucky enough to experience his favorite color. John was almost wearing that exact shade now.

/That's my gorgeous man. Need me just a little more.\\ He wanted that shade of red. He wanted to drag his tongue along the pulsing vein under that gorgeous shaft just for the sound John would make at the long, slow lick. He wanted to count the heart beat pounding through that body with the tight ring of his lips, to taste the essence of this man on his tongue.

And John clearly wasn't about to stop him if the sounds on those sweet lips were any indication. "Hold on for me, John. Show me how…" Sherlock waited for the wordless nod and the strong grip of hands to tighten in his hair. Only then did he dip his head for the first stroke of his tongue up that gorgeous shaft.

John didn't quite manage all the letters of Sherlock's name, but he did get that little bit closer to the right shade of red. And he tasted so good. Sherlock wanted more. He obeyed the low moan and the tug of those hands to take that gorgeous shaft into his mouth. /That's my John. All mine.\\

000

Sherlock was killing him. But good lord it was bloody perfect, so bloody perfect that he couldn't breathe past that feeling. But he didn't need to breathe in order to stare. Nothing on earth was as gorgeous as Sherlock's eyes. And to have those gorgeous eyes staring up at him while his favorite lips were wrapped around what felt like every single inch of his body… that was beyond words.

John Watson weakly clenched his hands in that dark tangle of hair, trying to concentrate enough to do what Sherlock asked, what he wanted. Words… words just weren't going to happen, not when that brilliant mouth was removing his brain the long… long, slow, bloody fantastic… way. If he managed more than helpless little calls of Sherlock's name, John would be shocked.

But his hands… his hands were more than happy to show Sherlock exactly how good this felt, to guide those talented lips and agile tongue through the grip he had on Sherlock's hair. /Show me…\\ Sherlock knew just how easily that voice, those words affected John. He always knew. /I'll show you, Sherlock. Make you mine.\\

Or maybe Sherlock was making John his. Because in this moment, John sure as hell wasn't the one in control. That mouth... Sherlock was taking power over every single pleasure center in his nervous system with the skill, devotion, and need of those lips around him, that tongue stroking him. And dear bloody hell the sounds Sherlock was making around him were about to give him a heart attack.

And tip him right over into climax while his Sherlock was still half dressed and almost as hard as he was. /No bloody way I'm coming first.\\ John was helplessly lost in the pull and heat for a few more moments even as he reminded himself of everything he wanted to do the man currently breaking him into pieces. None of those plans involved Sherlock owning him this way. Even as every bob of that head pushed him just that little bit closer to forgetting his own name and giving in to anything and everything this amazing man wanted to do to him. /No, Sherlock, not this way.\\

John forced his fingers out of those soft, dark curls to cup that precious face in his hands. "Sherlock, stop..." Strong fingers clenched on his hips. A stubborn chin tried to shake free of his grip as those beautiful, damnable lips tightened and pulled him even deeper. /Oh, please, love, I need to...\\ John arched into the heat of that mouth for one helpless thrust and then forced himself still. "Sherlock, get up here..." Stealing that violinist's hand off his hip, John wound their fingers together and used that grip to tug at him. "Sherlock, please, I need more of you than this..." His hips arched again to make his point. "I want you up here... with me. All of you."

Those lips released him long enough to press a smiling kiss to the edge of his hip. "What do you want, John? What can I give you?" Those gorgeous eyes locked onto his even as Sherlock's free hand curled around him with a knowing and delicious stroke. "What is it that you need?"

/And I'm the idiot? Who's the idiot here, Sherlock?\\ Long fingers tightened around him when he laughed. Sherlock did so love the sound of his voice. John gave him a low, desperate sound just to watch those beautiful eyes flutter and feel those hips rock against the mattress between his legs. /That's my boy, need me just a little more.\\

"You, Sherlock, just you, only you, all of you." He tugged on their joined hands, guiding him a few inches higher along his body. "What I want is you naked, you daft bastard. What you can give me is access, to touch you, every gorgeous inch. What I need is you, I need to show you who you belong to." Squeezing that hand, John pulled harder, dragging Sherlock closer up against his chest, almost close enough. "So, lose all your clothes and give me a kiss."

"I always want to kiss you, John." Suddenly Sherlock was off the bed and John could feel the chill in every lonely inch of his skin. The only reason it was at all okay was the heat in those gorgeous eyes as Sherlock stripped himself gloriously bare while standing just inches from the edge of the bed. "Every second of every day, at every crime scene. You're brilliantly distracting and I'll never get enough." Finally bare, Sherlock was brilliantly distracting, and way too far away.

"So come here and kiss me." Sherlock was almost close enough as he crawled back onto the bed to press a soft and gentle kiss onto his lips. So soft, so bloody warm. And not nearly enough to satisfy every desperately hungry nerve in John's body. His fingers clenched helplessly in that dark tangle of hair, deepening the kiss with a thrust of his tongue. Sherlock needed to know who he belonged with and John needed to imprint himself onto Sherlock's every nerve. Needed to make this amazing man melt under him, make him cry out in pleasure and cling with every inch of that gorgeous body.

And that wasn't about to happen as long as that long, lean body was the one on top. But Sherlock wasn't about to give up this kiss, clinging as John tried to pull back. "More, John... please."

He couldn't help a low, almost desperate chuckle. Sometimes Sherlock was truly an idiot. A nuclear emergency wouldn't, couldn't get him to stop now. The end of the world would just have to wait for John to finish claiming the hell out of his Sherlock. "You'll get more, you idiot. You'll get everything, all of me..." He paused just long enough to make sure that Sherlock was utterly focused in this exact moment, this overwhelming wealth of skin contact. Then John stroked the tips of two fingers down the entire length of Sherlock's spine to rest at the very last inch of vertebrae. "Every single inch of me, right where you want it. But first, I need you on your back with your hands on the headboard."

Sherlock went completely still before every inch of that body trembled against his. Long arms locked around him in the instant before the genius rolled to his back and took John with him. "Yes, John, yes, please..."

/That's my Sherlock, all mine, every gorgeous inch.\\ Not that a single word got out. His tongue was too busy with Sherlock's for any kind of speech to be possible.

000


End file.
